


O Green World

by Suchthingbutnever



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Dissociative Identity Disorder, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Slash, Smut, ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 22:03:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suchthingbutnever/pseuds/Suchthingbutnever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the verge of summer, with his Bachelor thesis waiting and stale coffee in his cup, Liam stumbles over a person, hunched-over and blood-shot and so, so bright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O Green World

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to state that though this story deals with mental health issues, I am by no means a professional and wrote everything based off the internet and my own imagination. 
> 
> Based off a 1dkinkmeme prompt by Flyleaf.

The first time Liam noticed him, he was grocery shopping, hands robotically throwing bags of pasta and frozen pizzas for the coming months into his wagon, with the semester finishing, the cafeteria closing and his bachelor thesis waiting to be written. 

 

The summer was buzzing outside, and Liam saw him through the large glass window (American beef on sale), walking by, shoulders hunched, hands stuck in his front pockets, eyes fixed on something far away. 

He’d shaken the thought of those lips, curled in a rather peculiar angle, and paid for his stack of beer and bags of instant coffee to keep him awake at the most ungodly hours, typing away on his computer, starry eyed. 

 

The next time he saw the boy an entire week had passed, and warm rain had soaked the afternoon in new colors. Louis had called and asked if he was already working himself to a pulp and whether he realized that there was more than enough time (four months!) to research the distribution of labor and capital in Mauritius. 

Liam had felt the ache in his back and the way the side of his neck made popping sounds whenever he tried to move more than necessary, and decided to go out for a quick jog around the block. 

 

And while some mind-numbing techno blasted out of his ear-phone speakers, while his breathing at last settled into a rhythm, his eyes caught the somewhat familiar curl of the nape of a neck. 

 

There he was, sitting on a random park bench, seemingly not caring about the cool wetness drenching his jeans, eyes alert, watching, skipping back and forth. Liam could feel his gaze fixing on himself, and struggled to keep his breathing flat and measured. 

 

The boy was smirking. 

 

His eyes roamed demonstratively, grin never faltering, brow cocked up like a question mark, taunting. Liam felt the seconds he ran by that bench to stretch on forever, his cheeks heating up not just from the exercise. 

 

That night he didn’t type a single word. Instead he turned on the shower, ignored the thoughts about water bills and part-time jobs he couldn’t afford with his tight Uni-schedule, and wanked to the thought of those dark eyes and the lashes that framed them. 

 

Liam woke up feeling dirty and immature. He wasn’t a kid anymore – god, soon he wouldn’t even be in his ‘early twenties’ no more. He was too old for weird sexual fantasies with strangers he happened to meet twice, he wasn’t the type to randomly shag around and he had his thesis to focus on. 

So that was exactly what he did – buried himself in heavy books and scientific magazines, book-marking, taking notes, ignoring two calls from his mum, seven from Louis and a message from Niall. They’d tried talking him into going on a quick Holiday before getting down with business, something about France and beaches and girls in bikinis who thought their accents were hot. But of course Liam had refused – the Master program he’d searched up was intense, never mentioning he needed the best of grades to get in. 

 

But of course he saw him again, thesis or not, barely a day later. 

 

It was on the main street nearby where Liam had to fetch, much to his disgrace, toothpaste and perhaps milk for his disgusting instant coffee. And if he was at it, he might as well nip by the Chinese takeaway and get himself a treat of sorts. 

 

That’s where he saw him again, perched on the front steps of the restaurant, with a infuriated Mr. Li screaming down at him with heavily accented, but nonetheless impressive expletives. Liam hesitated, but then stopped and watched the scenario unfold. He wasn’t the only one, anyway, people had stopped, casting the weird boy blocking the way into the Asian diner confused looks. 

Mrs. Li was screaming on the top of her lungs as well, only in Chinese, apparently telling her husband not to make a scene. 

 

“I call police. You wait, I call now.” 

 

Then suddenly the boy was up, standing a head taller than the restaurant-owner, and something in his expression made Liam flinch. He dropped his bag of groceries and jumped to pull the lad back just before he could lash out at the stunned little man. 

Liam’s not so lithe himself, but he was having troubles holding the guy back. He was dashing out, struggling like a beast gone wild, every single muscle tensed up. He stayed absolutely silent, though. 

 

Pedestrians were screaming now and a man was coming up to help Liam when the boy went limp, all of a sudden, dragging Liam down with him. 

 

“On drugs, I bet you.”

“These young people aren’t up for no good, I tell ya.”

“Should we call an ambulance?” 

“Call police, call now!” 

 

He could hear the chattering, feel the curious eyes and pointing index fingers. Then the boy was looking up at him, all of a sudden, twisting his head backwards as much as it went and to Liam’s surprise, a light smile played on his lips. His eyes were bright in the dim afternoon sun and he vaguely registered how the lad smelled like old sweat and grass and mud, like he had laid down in somebody’s garden and gazed at the stars all night.

Then the smile grew wider, brows furrowing at the same time, and then the first chuckle ripped through him, a second, a third. The little assembled crowd, huddled on the sidewalk, went absolutely silent as the boy threw his head back onto Liam’s shoulders and laughed.

\---

 

The following days passed in a haze. 

 

Liam wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten back to his apartment after the incident, all he could remember were the hurried movements of the boy, scrambling to get to his feet, traces of laughter still left crinkled at the corners of his eyes, mouth already a straight, solemn line. 

People had talked of hospitals and drug control, but none of them actually cared enough to spring into action, chase down the retreating figure. Liam had remained unmoving himself, but more out of shock than anything else 

 

And he could still feel the vibrating chuckles against his chest, after three full days of stillness and endless wondering. After a while of not-writing his thesis and repeatedly reading the same sentence from The Economist, he gave in and reduced himself to a heap of thoughts on his couch. After he was done retracing every single thing he could recall about the boy’s appearance, he started analyzing his behavior. He had been flirtatious on that rainy day, hadn’t he? Gave Liam all the right signals. Then he’d been sunken and self-absorbed, or something along those lines. Then the laughing. 

Liam could still see the scandalized looks onlookers had worn. They thought the lad had been high on something, maybe a junkie of sorts, had been taking the piss…

 

But the look he’d worn had been so luminous, cut out clear against the late sun. 

 

Liam was almost thankful when Louis barged in on his fourth day of sulking, all golden-bronze like the cheeky little bastard that he was, beach-ready, smug and way, way too cheerful to help with Liam’s headache. 

“Three and a half pages of your first draft?” He stood back and put on a look of sickening worry while Liam sighed and sat up. “Only three and a half pages? What has gotten into you? Should we go see the doctor, love?”

“Shut up, Lou.” 

“Well, aren’t you so chipper!” 

 

They settled with ordering pizza, since neither of them could cook, and Liam listened to Louis go on about his glorious Holiday, including detailed descriptions of various cocktails they had in France, and a few girls, all with ridiculously French names. 

But it was nice, somehow, it took the pressure from Liam. He, for once, didn’t think about his thesis. Or the boy. 

 

Maybe he would’ve even liked for Louis to ask how he himself was doing, but with his friend’s boisterous personality came a tendency towards a rather self-centered attitude. In the end, he was glad that Louis had come over and offered him to share and exchange research results (with a dramatic roll of the eye as a response). 

And somehow Louis had ended up infecting him with all his sun-bound energy – for the first time in days Liam made an effort, started cleaning out his flat a little, clearing the table of empty take-out boxes and dirty plates, changing his bed-sheets and opening the window to hopefully welcome in the last rays of warm light. 

 

But of course his new-found peace lasted a total of twenty minutes. 

 

He’d grabbed the trash-bags, wincing at the smell, and made his way down the stairs, greeting Mrs. Welsh, who was watering her African Violets, all bright and colorful in the evening sun. 

“How’d you do, young man?” 

“Good, thank you, Mrs. Welsh.” 

“Now take care, some almsperson sittin’ down there. The streets aren’t very safe anymore, nowadays” 

 

Liam had nodded in agreement, a short thought passing through his head, the look of those eyes flickering in the air for a split-second. Then he pushed it all aside and hopped down the last few steps, relishing the fresh air once he twisted the door open. 

The next few seconds passed in a blur. Liam opened the large bin, dumping in his trash and turning to his left to reach for the bio-waste canister. 

His eyes caught him so fast he almost had no time for his stuttering heartbeat. 

 

The boy was slumped against the far brick wall, hair covering half his face. Had Liam not spent the last few days replaying the contours of those features in his head, he wouldn’t even have noticed that a human being was right there, breathing. Breathing?

He quickly took a few steps forwards, before stopping dead in his tracks. He hadn’t noticed last time… or had he? The lad was filthy. His clothes looked straight out of the garbage, like he had rolled around in mud and then tried to wipe it off on the pavement. His hands were limp, hanging lifeless on both sides, and there was something unmistakably blood-like underneath his finger nails 

 

Liam stood there, frozen. 

 

Someone banged a door shut, there was the vague squawking of a sitcom somewhere in the second story. The teenage son of the Jenkins’ was blasting Busta Rhymes out the window. 

And the boy sat there, passed out? Asleep? Dead? 

 

“Hey!” Liam scared himself with his loud voice. He took a deep breath and went a few steps further, fists clenching involuntarily. “Hey, are you okay?” 

And to his demise and delight, the boy moved. He seemed to want to curl up, dragging his hands around his knees, almost falling sideways from the physical effort. Then he looked up at Liam, eyes a guarded sort of blank 

 

He might as well have been looking at the sky beyond him.

 

In retrospect, Liam once again didn’t have a clue how things had ended up the way they were. With the blink of an eye, the boy was sitting in his old bathtub, eyes wide and unblinking, with half his clothes still on, soaked in the warm water, soap dripping from his flattened black hair. 

 

Liam stood in the door, repeatedly asking himself what in the world he had been thinking. He didn’t want to touch the boy, though. He had already gone stiff and pale underneath the layers of dirt when he’d extended a hand to guide him up the stairs. 

A splash jerked him from his thoughts. The sight of the bare torso almost shocked him all over again, but the boy was scrubbing himself now, with a force to draw blood, eyes fixed on the white tiles of the far wall. 

 

“Hey!” And suddenly Liam was reaching out, hand closing around a slippery, cold wrist. 

 

And though Liam had been dying to draw some reactions out of the boy, the way he shrank back made him wish he didn’t. 

“No.” That was the first word the boy spoke. His gaze had somehow awoken, frantically skipping through the room, then he looked down, at his jeans-clad legs trembling in the foamy bath water. The Manchester United rubber duck sitting on the side of the mirror. Then his hands, blood-rimmed, eerily still in comparison to the rest of him. 

 

“No, no, no, no.” And suddenly, Liam was seized by the collar of his T-shirt, dragged forward until he was halfway into the tub. “No. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.” 

Then the boy started sobbing, eyes large and blood-shot, hands digging into Liam’s flesh. 

 

He sounded like a child. 

 

\---

 

The night brought along buzzing lights and the irregular rise and fall of the lad’s chest. 

 

Liam kept on the telly, just for the sake of distraction, but his eyes never left the slumped figure on his couch. Sometime around three in the morning it occurred to him that from an outsiders view, this situation, or whatever else he was in, probably looked not only dodgy but creepy as well. A man taking in a mentally distraught, clearly homeless boy. 

 

He did it out of charity, mostly. That, and a generous amount of fascination with the boy’s lashes, the angle of his cheekbone and the curve of his… 

For God’s sake! Liam shook his head violently and got up to brew himself another cup of the disgusting, cheap piss they sold as coffee. But he just needed to stay awake – sleeping didn’t feel right, somehow. Not with the boy breathing softly on his couch cushions. 

 

He then decided that, if he was already wide-awake, with his mind racing a hundred miles per hour, he might just as well do some additional research on Haiti and structural rebuilding. Most of his co-eds would probably use this one as a recovery example, but knowing could never hurt, could it? 

So he turned on his laptop and scanned over the files he’d scanned a few weeks back, when life was still normal and people had been flogging to him for advice and copies of notes, when Niall and Louis had treated him to lunch at Kentucky Fried Chicken as a thank you for all the work he’d put into their studies. 

 

The sun had begun to rise, bathing the bleakly lighted kitchen in an orange hue, illuminating the tops of the table and work-surface, trailing over the sprawled out pages Liam had read and marked over the hours. He felt out of his mind, sort of concentrating but really, thoughts still trailing back to his… his guest. 

 

Liam almost fell off his chair when the door was pushed open, just like that.

 

And there he stood, that boy, child, lad, whatever. Still wearing his damp jeans, that he’d refused to take off during his crying fit, hair tousled but clean and soft, his expression unreadable in the shadows the door cast. 

Until he took a step forward and Liam saw the tiny smile playing at the corner of his mouth. 

 

It rendered him speechless, to be honest. Not just because of the strange, sharp-cut beauty that was obvious before him, but mostly for the glint that shone subtly but noticeably in his eyes. 

 

“Good morning stranger.” 

 

Liam almost choked on his own spit, grabbing the edge of the table for support as he felt his eyes grow wide. “Uh, yeah.” 

The boy simply took a seat at the other end of the table, picked up Liam’s old coffee cup and took a swift drink. “God, just like old times. Cheap coffee and early mornings.” 

He sounded different, Liam decided, his voice was far darker than yesterday, he drawled his vowels, and… there was something decidedly north-western in his pronunciation. Was he dreaming? Was he hallucinating? Had the boy been a figment of his imagination after all?

His posture was so different from the hunched, stiff, clawing boy he’d gotten to know – he seemed relaxed, hanging off the kitchen stool like it was what he was born to do. His half-lid eyes bore something lazy, but also seductive. The grin widened under Liam’s steady gaze. 

 

He’d seen that grin before. 

 

“So you’re not going to tell me your name, then?” The lad leaned across the table, hands randomly rearranging the sheets of paper. “Was I that bad?” 

Liam swallowed at the suggestive flick on those dark eyes. “Uh, what? I’m, I’m Liam. Hi.” 

He almost wanted to ask whether he didn’t remember anything at all – how he’d been roaming the streets, how he’d ended up between garbage cans, then up in Liam’s bathtub and consequently on his couch.

“Name’s Harry.” 

 

Harry, then. At last Liam could put a name to the face. 

 

They sat and stared at each other, Liam with a trace of disbelieve on his face, mouth slightly ajar, and Harry smiling, all bright and happy. 

It wasn’t until Harry reached across the table and softly pushed his mouth shut that Liam jerked back into life. This wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right at all. 

“D’you, do you want to have breakfast, then? I have, I have…” Truth was, there wasn’t much left in his freezer after days of ordering take-out and worrying about the very boy that was now sitting across from him. 

 

“Oh why not?” 

 

Harry got up, went around the table and came to a halt in front of Liam, who immediately stood up as well. The morning light left Harry’s dark complexion smooth and beautiful, glowing, even. 

Liam almost anticipated the movement, his eyes following those lips while they came closer and closer and then he really wasn’t thinking anymore, with hands running down his spine, teasing, a tongue darting to flick against the corner of his mouth. 

 

When they stumbled to Liam’s unmade bed, Harry laughed.

 

They both woke up around noon, Harry lying flat on his stomach, the back of his thighs still covered in dry come, bruises and scratches on the side of neck. Liam didn’t dare move as Harry laid unmoving, eyes unfocused, fingers twitching slightly. 

 

“Harry?”

 

No response. Harry stayed where he was, eyes closing again, though by his breathing pattern Liam could tell that he wasn’t asleep. When he tried pulling the boy closer it was like rolling a stone. Or a dead body. 

It was like a door had closed, like windows had been shut after Liam had barely a peek in. He suspected that he could do anything he wanted – hit him repeatedly, drag him off the bed, even rape him. Harry wasn’t going to react. 

 

So Liam left him be. 

 

He busied himself with cleaning and sorting his laundry that had been done quite a few days ago. Then he cooked himself a simple meal of toast and scrambled eggs. The salty, oily smell didn’t persuade Harry to move, either.

Liam retreated into the kitchen and got a good few pages done that he edited three times over until he was satisfied. He drank so much coffee that he felt like throwing up by half past four in the afternoon. 

 

So he decided to just throw the rest out and spend some money on Starbucks instead. A total of six cups he’d used throughout the day, and while he balanced them on top of each other towards the sink, the inevitable happened: the topmost one slipped and fell, crashing onto the wood table, the force of it sending the larger remaining pieces towards the ground, shattering. 

Combined with Liam’s swearing, it must’ve been quite loud, because when he had placed the remaining cups into the sink, he could sense Harry’s presence in the room. 

“Fuckin’ hell, sorry I woke you, just the stupid cup.” 

 

No response. 

 

Liam turned around, and he immediately knew that something was wrong. Harry wasn’t Harry, if he had been Harry in the first place. The person standing in the doorframe with his nostrils flaring was someone he’d seen before, on the street, in front of Mr. Li’s diner. 

 

And this time he was manic. 

 

\---

 

Liam still had time to ask himself what in the world he had gotten into before his instincts shouted at him to duck. 

 

Harry was screaming, but in a language that Liam couldn’t immediately recognize. His eyes were wide, the anger, the rage seemingly just pulsing through his body as he lunged forward, straight into the shreds of porcelain. He got a hold of Liam’s ankle, tiny cuts on his bare upper body already seeping blood, and everything was surreal and fast. Liam felt a choking hold on his throat, and he wondered dazedly how a guy who hadn’t ate for at least two days could be this strong. 

“Wait, Harry, Harry!” He briefly thought about reasoning, about explaining the cup, but the wild look in those eyes made him know better. “For fuck’s sake!”

 

“Do not use those words in front of me! Do. Not. Dare. To. Disrespect. Me.” 

 

There, finally. English. Liam was relieved and more afraid than ever, all at once. Because everything was different. Everything. The forceful hold on his wrist, the spitting words. The accent. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, alright!” all Liam could do was fend off… Harry, or whoever the hell he was, and apologize. Before he could think right, he’d received a flat hand across his face, burning, like punishment. Slap, slap, slap. 

“You will learn to respect your God.” The crazed person on top of him said, tongue that had only this morning curled around smooth English syllables now flicking through something thick, perhaps Indian. 

“I will. I will.” Liam repeated all over again, his head thumping, tasting blood in his mouth. “I will, I promise.” 

 

He waited, and a moment later, the weight on him was gone. The door slammed shut. 

 

Liam tried to get his breathing under control, eyes watering, teeth gritting. He could feel the cutting shards pinpricking against the soles of his feet and his arms. The first thought that passed his mind was to call the police. The second, that he’d slept with this person only a few hours ago. 

Harry, right. Harry. He’d been gentle and loving and playful and purely seductive. This, all of this… was not. 

Liam sat up, wincing at the pain, and looked to the closed door. A sudden wave of anger crashed through him. Who did this guy think he was? This was Liam’s flat. He’d taken him in out of the charity of his heart, just to get beaten up! And then he was even afraid to walk out of his own kitchen now. 

 

With a lunge Liam was on his feet again, ignoring the pieces of cup-remainder that stuck to his socked feet. He opened the door with a sharp tug and stormed out into the living room. He didn’t even wait to observe, just took a swing and hit Harry, that person, square across the face. 

Liam wasn’t one to get into fights easily. He wasn’t easily provoked, not really. But if the occasion was given, he sure as hell knew how to defend himself. 

 

“Ow!” To his surprise, the mad man was gone. “What the fuck?” 

“Yes, what the fuck?” Liam sat down heavily and then reached for a box of tissues. “What, who are you?” 

“Who are you?” 

They looked at each other. Liam was dazed. He was bewildered and worried and angry at himself, angry at what had happened. But above all of that, curiosity lurked. 

“I’m Liam.” He finally offered, waiting for the lad to reciprocate. He didn’t though, just sat and nursed his bloody nose, eyes drifting, scanning the room, but not with the empty stare Liam had seen him with numerous times before. 

“I, uh.” The boy shrugged. Liam suddenly noticed that he was pale, and soaked with cold sweat. “I don’t know.”

“What’s, uhm, what’s your name?” It was like a conversation with an Erasmus student who’d somehow managed to pass the Cambridge exam without learning proper speech. 

The boy looked at him, long and hard. “What did I tell you?” 

Liam hesitated, but he found nothing within a lie: “Harry. You said you were Harry.” 

“Oh.” Silence. Breathing. Birds chirping outside the tilted window. “Just, just. Uh. Zayn. I’m Zayn.” 

 

Liam had a thousand questions tumbling around his head, but Zayn, Harry, madman, seemed exhausted. Exhausted but solemn, like someone who didn’t have a clue and honestly didn’t want to know, either. 

So instead he asked: “D’you want to have a bit of a lie down?” 

Like he hadn’t just been attacked, choked and slapped on shards of porcelain, like Zayn (Z-a-i-n, he reminded himself, not Harry, nor Mr. Madman) wasn’t bleeding himself. 

“Yeah. Yeah I think I will.” Zayn cast him a look that carried suspicion, something akin to gratitude and extreme wariness. “Thanks, mate.” 

 

It was so normal that Liam almost choked all over again. 

 

He didn’t care to mention that Zayn had already slept most of the day, got up instead and cleaned up the kitchen. He went on to take a shower and swore silently as the soap burned his new wounds. Didn’t want Mr. Madman coming in when he was stark naked. 

 

And of course he couldn’t keep himself from thinking about the whole issue. He decided to go for a quick jog, get some fresh air to process everything that had happened to him in the last twenty-four hours and maybe do some shopping. 

If Zayn decided to go ballistic within that period of time – too bad. At least his electronics were insured. 

 

He let his feet take him down a few blocks until he reached his favorite little park, mind racing all the while. Liam wasn’t stupid, and it wasn’t unheard of. He just needed some backing evidence, some more time to observe. And then what? 

He successfully ignored that part of the question, instead focusing on how Zayn should be treated. Who he knew that studied anything that could be related to this sort of… disorder. And how in the world Zayn had been left out on the streets, fending for himself. 

 

When he got back to his apartment, the sun was already setting. 

 

Liam carried his bags of groceries in and found Zayn sitting on the couch. Somehow he could just tell that it was still Zayn and not Harry, not madman or anyone else. “Hey.”

“Hi.” He looked up, eyes darting to the cartoon of milk peeking out from the top of the sack. “Listen, I…” 

“Do you want to have something? I’m going to fix myself dinner.” 

 

Liam didn’t know what it was, but he wanted Zayn to stay. He didn’t have a place to run to, anyway, for now. He wasn’t… very stable. And even if Mr. Madman was to appear again, Liam had rather he did it in this flat than out on the streets. Zayn blinked, the tips of his lashes catching the last few sun rays. 

 

“Yeah. Sure. Thanks.” 

 

\---

 

The joint forces of Niall and Louis invaded his building the next day, thumping on his door and demanding to be let in for the sake of a proper night out. 

 

“At least have one beer, Payne. Just one!” He could hear Louis crowing. 

 

Zayn remained on his spot by the window, eyes huge and fixed on the door. Liam took a step forward and then back again, head snapping back and forth. The pounding got louder, within minutes that old geezer Mr. Jefferson, who prided himself with his great American namesake, would be down and yelling, joining in with the tantrum thrown. 

 

Before he could register what he was doing, he’d unbolted the door and twisted the knob open. Niall immediately barged in, bags of crisps in hand, mouth chewing while trying to accuse Liam of something that sounded like ‘bein’ over’y acad’mic’. Also that he was going to die old and alone, with his degrees as wallpaper. 

 

He stop short in his tracks when he caught sight of Zayn. 

 

Louis had come in after him and gave a small whistle. “Who’s your friend?” 

Liam realized that Zayn was still wearing his ragged old jeans, torn and hanging low from his hips. The way he was holding himself now made them look rather stylish and en vogue, and with a bolt in his spine Liam realized that Zayn wasn’t here anymore. 

 

“Harry, and yes. We’re very friendly.” 

Louis laughed while Niall just stared on, blinking a few times, before turning to Liam and smacking the side of his head good humoredly. “You cheeky bugger! That’s why you were so fuckin’ busy.” 

Liam was about to object, when he realized that Niall was dead on spot without intending to be. The last few weeks had been about that very boy perching on his window sill, now conversing animatedly with Louis. He suddenly felt very stupid. “Yeah, uh, right.” 

 

Of course it was decided that Harry would join them for the night. 

 

Visions of horror haunted Liam for the first hour they spent out wandering the streets to find an adequate pub to get smashed. Zayn (Harry) getting lost, sitting, or worse, lying in dark, dead streets, eyes empty, lips cool, pulse dead… But he soon came to realize that Harry was the last person he needed to worry about – he was flirtatious and fun, hands roaming, lips smiling, nipping on his beer, blushing at the right places, flashing grins at Niall, undressing Louis numerous times in those forty minutes they stayed at the pub and chugged beers. 

 

“Oh God.” Louis pulled him aside as they made their way towards some club that was apparently rather popular, judging by the crowd that was gathered outside, waiting to be let in. “He’s bloody gorgeous. Where’d you find him?” 

Liam wasn’t about to answer that question truthfully, mostly because explaining about someone homeless and with mental problems took some more privacy and perhaps less noise, but also because he could hear the underlying question, the one that actually mattered, in Louis’ voice. 

 

He liked Harry.

 

Of course he liked Harry, who didn’t. And now he was asking Liam for permission to have him, since Louis wasn’t yet certain whether the relationship Harry had hinted at was just within the range of the joke or real. 

 

Something inside Liam churned at the thought of Louis having Zayn, Harry, whoever. He had noticed him first, after all. Picked him up, bathed him, endured a beating and worried his heart out. 

“Dunno, the supermarket or something.” And he shrugged, looking away. Louis nodded, and his cheerful grin told Liam that he’d taken that as a yes, to go ahead. 

 

The rest of the night consisted of a bottle of absolute alcohol-free coke, a sloshed Niall who was escorted home by his flat-mate he met up with earlier on, bright, flashing lights and Louis groping Harry on the dance floor. 

“You don’t know how he is!” Liam found himself screaming in his head. “You haven’t seen anything, you don’t know him at all!” He half expected Harry (Zayn) to have a mental breakdown, but he seemed to be in his element, grinding, writhing, attracting attention. Liam’s shirt sat a bit loose on him, but he looked good. More than that, perhaps. 

 

When the two of them kissed, Liam got up and left, coke still in hand. 

 

He spent the night burdened with nightmare containing largely Zayn, speaking with the mad man’s voice and choking himself. “You have no respect! None!” 

Then the voice slowly turned into a painfully sharp ringing, that made Liam shout out amidst his dream-clogged brain and the tears he felt were slipping down his cold cheeks. 

When he managed to sit up, he realized it was already morning and his doorbell was ringing. 

He cursed, stumbling towards the door without actually alerting his brain to consciousness and yanked it open sans further thought. 

 

Zayn stood before him, hands buried in his jeans, love bites a deep bruising color on his collarbone. Even though the morning sun was out, he was shivering with something that came from within. 

“Sorry,” he said, and thus reassured Liam: yes, it was Zayn. Not Harry, not madman, no one else. “I… just, sorry.” 

Liam stepped back to let him in, a surge of jealousy going through his chest with a painful intensity when he got a good look at all the things Louis had done to him. He was always one to leave marks, that Liam knew from knowing all his past boy- and girlfriends. 

 

“Did you have fun?” He shot out before he could stop himself. Zayn’s aggrieved look immediately made him regret opening his mouth. 

“I…” Zayn cast his eyes down. “Don’t really remember.” 

“Right. Sorry. Sorry, uh. D’you want breakfast?” 

 

So they sat in the kitchen while Liam boiled eggs and threw on the toaster, laid out bacon strips and a can of beans. Working calmed him down a bit, made him think rationally. Obviously Zayn couldn’t remember. None of the others seemed to do. It gave him a vengeful, laughing sensation in the pit of his stomach. 

He threw a look over his shoulder at Zayn, who sat hunched, apparently deep in thought. “You okay?” He asked, almost out of habit. 

 

He was answered with a giggle. A nervous giggle.

 

“Wonderful, really, darling.” 

Liam spun around, disregarding the boiling water. Zayn had a big, toothy smile plastered across his face. “Thank you for having me, us, really. I’m sure it’s such a bother.” He laughed weakly at the last bit of the sentence, and ended it with a hysterical high pitched squeak. “I’m so happy.” 

Liam stood with his mouth open, and didn’t fail to notice the slightly effeminate angle Zayn’s wrist had taken on. From all things he’d experienced so far, this was by far the most disconcerting. “Excuse me…” 

“Yes! I’m so sorry.” Zayn giggled, laughed. And Liam recognized that laugh. He could feel it vibrating through him, while they both sat on the pavement, surrounded by staring onlookers. “To cause all the trouble.”

“What’s your name?” Liam just blurted it out. He just needed to know, to be able to put labels and tags on, so he could keep track, so he could… 

“Oh, silly me. I’m Tricia. Tricia. Silly name, I know.” 

 

“Tricia.” Liam echoed faintly. 

 

“Yes. And I’m so very sorry about Jamal. He never knows where to stop. But he means well, I promise!” Another nervous laugh. “We’re all so delighted.” 

 

Zayn hiccupped, arms crossed before his chest like in a prayer. 

 

\---

 

Tricia didn’t leave for the rest of the day.

 

He (she?) made Liam tea at four, gathered ingredients for cookies but then was stopped when the baking powder was missing. A constant stream of apologies and reassurances were thrown at Liam, yes, they loved it here, they loved everything from the white Ikea curtains to the wooden frame of his double bed. It would’ve been funny, had Liam not caught the manic shine in Tricia’s eyes, the way her (his?) hand shook while carrying the saucer, the cup rattling and almost spilling over. 

 

At this point it finally occurred to Liam that Zayn was sick. 

 

Truly, seriously sick. Not that he hadn’t already thought so when he’d found the boy down by the bins. But the high pitched voice gave him the reassurance he never actually needed. He told Tricia to watch a cooking show on his telly and locked the door from the outside, ignoring the nagging guilt at the back of his head. 

 

He headed to a vendors stand, flipping through a stack of local News Papers. Why hadn’t he taken action earlier? Zayn had obviously run off from somewhere. There’d be search announcements and some such. Maybe he was from a hospital, maybe he was from the medical department of their Uni? 

He didn’t find anything, though, and the vendor started eyeing him suspiciously, so that he practically ran back to his street, seized his bike and rode off towards the nearest police station. 

 

There they made him wait for almost half an hour and had him filling out a few useless forms before he could voice his inquiry. They gave him insight on the missing people’s file of the last two months, a stern lady flipping through the pages. 

 

Liam’s breath almost stopped when he saw Zayn’s picture appear after that of a demented old lady’s. His stare was guarded, with a reluctant kind of sadness, and the bright lightning accentuated the dark rings beneath his eyes that barely opened enough for the picture to be taken. He’d obviously had some sort of medical treatment that was wearing off his body. 

“That’s him.” Liam said, weakly. “Yeah.” 

The police officer gave him a sharp look and then started dialing numbers, while Liam slumped back in his seat, head dizzy with confusion and sickening thoughts about a party of white-robed men storming his flat and dragging Zayn along who was still shrieking with Tricia’s voice. 

 

“She’ll be over as fast as she can. Patience, Sir.” 

 

Liam didn’t dare ask who ‘she’ was, just remained seated and counted the sheets pinned to the noticeboard. He thought of Louis, and how he was going to tell him that Harry was in fact only one of many personalities Zayn owned – that owned Zayn? Then he thought of Zayn’s parents and their perplexing absence in the boy’s life. 

That made him miss his own mum, and for one minute he longed to be irresponsible and curled up in his childhood bedroom with a hot cocoa. 

 

“Dr. Morgenstern.” A hand was extended right before his nose and Liam jumped up in shock. “You found Zayn Malik?” 

“Yes, I did. Uh, he’s…” Liam backed away from the woman and sat back down. “at my place, actually.” 

She just pierced him with her cold blue eyes from behind her rimless spectacles, pursed her lips and then nodded towards the entrance. “Just a minute.” She called towards the officer who was impatiently waiting with the formalities to be cleared. 

 

“Specify, if you will.” 

Liam looked at his feet, feeling like he was twelve and talking to his least favorite math teacher. “I found him… at the bins. Took him in.” 

She remained silent, mouth a straight line that gave across the message of no non-sense. Liam took a deep breath: “Why in the world did you let him just wander the streets?” 

Dr. Morgenstern frowned. “His… mother, has gone off, apparently. I’ve asked around in his neighborhood after he stopped coming to his sessions.” 

“His mother?!” Liam stared on, scandalized, in a sort of negative awe. How was it humanly possible to just leave your own son behind? 

“He took the last of the subscribed medicine. Avoided leaving the house, according to the next-doors. He probably ran out of food sometime around three weeks ago.” 

Liam nodded. That matched the time-frame he himself had in mind. “He’s, he’s not… he’s Tricia. Right now.” He immediately dropped his head in embarrassment. 

“I see.” Dr. Morgenstern was smiling, just very mildly, but nonetheless. 

 

She took over things from there. 

 

After the formalities were cleared Liam loaded his bike in the back of her car and they spent the five minute ride to his flat in silence, both deep in thought. 

 

They found Tricia gone, though. Zayn sat on the couch, his hands bloodied from rattling the door knob with all the force he could muster, all the windows in the apartment thrown wide open. When he looked up, Liam recognized Jamal. The sight of Dr. Morgenstern obviously enraged him, scarlet fists clenching and unclenching. “You, woman. How dare you. How dare you lock me in.” 

 

Liam expected the attack, but was too stunned to react. Dr. Morgenstern, on the contrary, caught Zayn in a tight embrace and pushed him down until he was pressed face first against the back of the couch. “Jamal, I did not lock you in.” 

“You have no respect.” Jamal spat. “I will teach you. I will.” 

“Please, do. Do as the Qur’an says.” She twisted Jamal’s arm and induced a groan from both Zayn and Liam. 

 

“Wait, don’t.” 

 

And as if Liam’s words had been the off-button, Jamal retreated, leaving Zayn slumped against the couch, shoulders heaving, shuddering with the effort of staying upright. “No, please, no. No. No. No.” 

“Tom, look at me.” Dr. Morgenstern cooed. “Tom. Or is it Jerry? Please, turn around.”

“No, no, no, no, no.” 

“Yes, please.” 

“No, please don’t. Please don’t.” 

 

Liam felt a sudden burning in his throat, and instinctively made a run for the kitchen, where he vomited into the sink, coughing, spluttering at the contents of his stomach. 

There he stayed, various images of Harry, Jamal, Tricia, but really only Zayn crowding his brain. 

 

After minutes, or maybe decades, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

 

“Would you like to come sit with us?” 

 

\---

 

 

It was a bright day out. 

 

Zayn sat, once again, perched on his window sill, eyes blood-shot, reddened, face smudged with tear-streaks, hands hugging himself defensively. Dr. Morgenstern sat in the far corner on one of Liam’s kitchen stools, observing. 

“Zayn, how are you?” 

 

Liam almost gave a snort from his standing position. How was Zayn? It was more than obvious how he was currently feeling. To his surprise Zayn straightened up, and his answer suggested that he knew all this from former treatment: “I’m dizzy, disoriented. That’s why I came back here. It was the only place I knew for sure existed.” 

It was the longest sentence Liam had yet heard him speak, and he was amazed by how steady his voice remained. 

 

“Yes.” Was all that Dr. Morgenstern replied.

A long period of silence ensued, with Zayn shuffling on his spot, eyes closed, new tears flowing. Liam wanted to stroke them away so badly. 

“Jamal probably got into a fight. Or two? Harry slept with people. I don’t know. Tricia keeps track, I suppose.” 

Liam swallowed at the way Zayn referred to all his other… personalities, like he was talking about normal people. He didn’t register how his hand had raised, like he was reaching out to touch Zayn, until he felt all eyes set on him.

“Liam helped me a lot. I think Jamal broke his tea cups. Beat him.” Zayn immediately said, like the Doctor had asked him to. “I need medication.” He added, almost as an afterthought. 

 

The conversation, or rather, Zayn’s monologue carried on like that. He talked about things he’d seen and periods of time he’d simply missed out, about sitting on Liam’s couch and eating breakfast. “I need medication.” He repeated, after concluding. 

 

“Thank you, Zayn. Now I’ll have to ask you: do you want to go to the clinic with me?” Zayn’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. 

“Do you want to stay at home and have a nurse in?” 

“No, hell no. I’m not… not going back.” 

“Then you’ll have to give me a minute to talk to Mr. Payne.” 

 

Liam watched, stunned, how Zayn stood up and left the room, pulling the kitchen door shut. He was so normal. But really, not. 

 

“You’ve caught the gist of it, I suppose?” 

Liam swallowed. “He can stay here, if he wants to.” 

“It’s hardly legal.” Dr. Morgenstern had her mild look again. “But we’ll see what I can do about it.” 

“Yeah.” Liam said, weakly. If there was anyone that could do anything, it would be this Doctor. “Yeah, please.” 

“You’re not a professional, but are you within context?”

“Multiple Personalities, isn’t it?” 

“Dissociative Identity Disorder, to be precise. There’s no need to confuse you with medical details. Just sit, and I’ll give you a run-over.” 

 

And she did. Liam felt like his brain was exploding, but things that he’d guessed at actually made sense now. Morgenstern had left out the personal details, medical confidentiality and all that, but she explained to Liam what he had witnessed, put it into order. 

“Why?”

“Severe childhood trauma.” 

For now, Liam didn’t even want to know the details. He didn’t want to know why Zayn had split himself up to face life. 

 

The Doctor gave him her number, asked him to call at all hours when something occurred, and promised that they’d work towards a solution. Zayn sat on the couch all along, only asking her to up his dose. 

 

They both sat in silence for nearly an hour or so after Morgenstern had left, eyes focused on the far wall and the blabbering telly. Finally, Zayn turned to him, eyes still puffy, lips twitching in an unforgiving smile. 

“Harry slept with you, didn’t he?” 

“I. Uh.” Liam shrugged, feeling the blush creep up his cheeks. “Yeah?”

“It’s alright.”

 

They both went to sleep after that, Zayn on the couch, Liam in his bed. 

 

The next morning Liam found Zayn in the toilet, curled up and sobbing his eyes out. This time he knew who it was. Tom. Jerry? One of those two. Childhood images of himself, created to take the pain. And named after cartoon characters, Liam thought to himself while perching down and wrapping his arms around the shoulders that suddenly seemed so frail. 

 

Tom and Jerry went away after an hour or so. Zayn straightened back up, unable to meet Liam’s eyes, and then, quite to his surprise, made them both breakfast. Full English, with so little ingredients that it was a real challenge. 

“Don’t shatter things.” He said, during their meal. “Don’t swear or scream, anything… you know.” 

“Jamal?” Liam asked, and repressed the urge to just reach out and touch Zayn’s cheek. “I’ll try not to.” 

“It’ll get better once I get my medicine.”

 

Jamal was his way of defending himself. Based on the characters of older, seemingly potent male relatives. Liam hoped with all his heart that it wasn’t the image of his father the entire thing was based on. 

 

Dr. Morgenstern came over around noon, prescription and bottles of pills in hand, and held a three-hour session during which Liam distractedly worked on his neglected bachelor thesis. He also answered a worried call from his mother and ignored a message from Louis asking about Harry. 

 

And so they settled into a rhythm. 

 

Once a nurse came over to check on Zayn’s physical state, but the rest of the week, it was only the two of them – with the Doctors regular visits. Liam got used to Tom and Jerry appearing especially in the mornings, Jamal only once, when shooting occurred in a movie they were watching. Harry and Tricia staying away entirely. 

Of course there were those phases when Zayn would just sit, or preferably lie down and not get up at all, blank stare, mouth pressed into a harsh line. But with the medicine, it got better. It really did. 

 

Liam took to jogging and even meeting up with his friends again, every now and then. He went shopping and started buying certain things he’d observed Zayn liked. They cooked together, in a silence that was almost companionable at times. 

 

“Why?” 

 

Zayn asked one lazy August afternoon. He had fallen asleep on Liam’s bed, a rare thing to happen, and woke up to Liam typing the conclusion of his rather mediocre thesis. Liam looked up, economic terms still muddling his brain, and made a random noise. 

 

“Why are you doing this? For me.” 

 

Liam sat, stunned for the moment. Because I’ve been embarrassingly infatuated with you ever since you walked by that afternoon one and a half months ago. No, more like: Because I can’t stop staring at your lashes. 

He just shrugged, then. 

 

Until he noticed the tears in Zayn’s eyes. They weren’t Tom or Jerry’s. They were his. And Liam couldn’t bear seeing that, no, he just… couldn’t. So he got up and closed the distance by pressing his lips to stop the salty track. 

 

\---

 

 

Louis got a hold of him the very next day.

 

Liam was on his routine jog, eyes focused on his breathing pattern and the pavement flying by under his shoes when a sudden arm reached out to jolt him off the road.

 

“What’s it with ignoring me, Payne?” 

 

Louis looked awful, dark shadows under his eyes, dressed unusually colorless. His glare was full of pent-up anger, with an edge of desperation dragging. Liam backed up against the nearest bench, which, he realized after a quick look, was the one he’d seen Zayn (Harry) first. He could recall that lazy smirk with all clarity. 

 

“I mean, it’s cool if you want him too, yeah? Just, be frank with me.” 

 

Liam took a deep breath. This really wasn’t going to be easy at all. 

“Listen, Lou. It’s not… it’s not that simple, okay?” He sounded cliché and pitiful in his own ears. Of course it was hard to explain to Louis why the Harry he was obviously unable to forget wasn’t actually a person. But, well, somewhere deep inside, Liam wanted Zayn all to himself – even all those other twisted, estranged parts of him, the shreds and pieces, the tearful mornings. 

“Well, fucking tell me then?” 

“I… let’s not do this here.” 

“Fine.” 

 

They walked back to Liam’s flat in stony silence, with Louis huffing breaths in frustration and Liam panicking ever so slightly. 

He didn’t remember who was in his flat until they were both standing in it and the clinking of cutlery being rinsed was heard through the kitchen door. Louis’ stricken expression made Liam flinch inwardly, and he quickly turned to his friend and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Louis, he’s not – “ 

“Couldn’t you’ve just told me?”

“Listen, Lou, he’s not Harry.” 

“What’d you mean, he’s not…” 

 

Zayn chose that very moment to emerge from the kitchen, furrowing his brows at the two of them. He was only wearing an old pair of shorts from Liam, drying his hands on a kitchen towel. Of course, yes of course he didn’t know Louis – or did he? “Uh, hey.” 

Louis was shrinking back, eyes downcast. “What bullshit, Payne.” He almost whispered. “You could’ve just fucking picked up the phone and told me when I called you.” 

“Louis, wait. Wait.” Liam had to use all his strength to keep his friend from storming off. “He’s not Harry! He’s fucking not!” 

He tried to think of ways to explain the situation, that he wasn’t trying to gloat and hurt one of his best mates, for God’s sake! 

“Fuck off, Liam. Just, fuck off.” 

 

“Harry’s not here.” 

 

The both stilled, Liam breathing out heavily, Louis turning in confusion. Zayn had taken a few steps forward, arms circling his heaving chest, eyes wide. 

“He’s… not. He only comes out when it’s at its worst, they’ve told me.” He took a quick breath, eyes skipping from the far wall to Louis’ baffled frown. “I’m not sure how often in the last weeks. I’m sorry.” 

 

Liam vaguely panicked at the apology, should it bring forth Tricia again. But the medicine was apparently working its wonders, because Zayn remained himself and relatively steady, too. “I’m so sorry if he… I, somehow… made you, uh. Caused you discomfort.” 

Zayn’s shoulders sagged. Louis’ presence made him uneasy, Liam could sense it. “Louis, maybe we should go talk in the kitchen or something?” 

Louis didn’t even budge. He simply let Liam guide him towards the door, eyes never leaving Zayn, who had sat down on his usual spot by the window, face buried between his arms. 

 

“He’s not Harry.” He said after a few minutes of quiet breathing. Liam just nodded in agreement, pulling out a chair to sit down. 

“No. He’s not. He’s Zayn.”

“Where’s Harry, then? And what’s it mean only when he gets worse?” Louis frowned, suspicion creeping back into his eyes. “Just, fucking tell me.” 

“Zayn’s sick. Mentally, I mean.” Liam suddenly realized why Zayn found it so difficult to talk about. He himself could barely find the right words. “Harry’s… Harry’s just a… personality, he, uh. He made up. To, to protect himself.” He tried to remember the things Morgenstern had told him. “To help him interact with people.” 

 

Louis’ mouth was hanging half open. “What do you mean he made up Harry?” He finally sat down too. “I… I talked to Harry, alright? He told me things about himself. He can’t be…” 

“Multiple Personality Disorder.” Liam said, and he hoped very much that everything would just be settled by that. He suddenly felt tired and cold in his jogging pants. Louis just stared at him, and to Liam’s surprise there were tears in his eyes. 

“Harry’s from Cheshire. He lived with his mum until last year. He likes sweet corn.” There was a certain defiance in his voice, like he was refusing to believe that the boy he’d been pining after wasn’t a person of his own. 

So Liam started explaining, from the very start. How he’d found Zayn, the doctor, the fights, Jamal, Tricia, Tom, Jerry… “And sometimes he just goes really still. Doesn’t move or talk for a whole day.” 

Louis was staring at him, lips pursed. Then he stood up very suddenly, like he’d just thought of something important and had to run. “I… I guess I should go.”

“Lou! Louis, I’m really sorry about this mess, yeah?”

“’S fine, Li.” 

 

But it really wasn’t. Louis skipped out of the door, eyes averted from the corner where Zayn still sat curled up. From the kitchen window Liam could see him running all the way down the street. 

 

Nobody said a word for the rest of the day. 

 

It wasn’t until Liam had already fallen asleep in bed over a science-fiction novel when Zayn approached, waking him with a light touch. 

“Oh, fuck!” Liam jolted up. “Zayn. Zayn, is everything alright?”

“Yeah. I just wanted to tell you.” The bedside lamp was throwing yellow glowing shadows over Zayn’s cheek-bone, casting half of his face in complete darkness. “That I’m sorry about your friend.” 

“No, no.” Liam sat up, propped himself against the headboard. “It’s not your fault.” 

 

“I… I mean. He’s not the first time Harry…” Zayn gulped back a breath, and Liam abruptly noticed the way his hands were clenched around the hem of the T-shirt Liam had given him. “People just, they tend to really like Harry. A few years back, he took over for three full weeks, almost. Summer camp, and all that.” 

Zayn looked up, looked Liam in the eye: “I think everyone just fell in love with him.” 

 

And Liam felt his own heart stopping for a full second. Everyone fell in love with Harry. 

 

Well, he fell in love with Zayn. 

 

\---

 

Liam could physically feel the effort Zayn was putting into every single word he spoke. He was trying to open up, to tell his story.

 

The moon was high and illuminated the vague outlines of clouds floating by. They sat side by side, with a safe distance, while Zayn struggled to phrase his sentences. Sometime in between, Liam had reached out and placed his hand firmly over Zayn’s, just to let him feel the warmth. It made his pulse speed up dramatically, touching Zayn like that. 

 

“My mum didn’t want me in the house, for a while. Then she changed her mind and told me I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere, not even the lawn. She would lock my door, sometimes. I guess Jamal came out a lot, those days.” 

Liam remained silent. He didn’t remove his hand, didn’t squeeze. Zayn needed his space, his quiet. 

“I had a lot of night-mares. They put me in hospital, but Harry escaped three or four times, I guess. I don’t remember much about these weeks, Doc told me a few things later.” 

 

The street lights casted a weird iridescent pattern on Liam’s bedroom ceiling. Zayn’s voiced was hushed, throaty, like he was trying to get over with his story, like he was trying to compress it, and failing miserably. 

“Sometimes I still see it. It’s. It’s weird. Like, I imagine them as fuzzy old pictures. Snapshots. You know, where the blood is a faded kind of red, and pale things just sort of blur until you can’t see anything, really.” Zayn took a deep breath. “Sometimes I want to see the entire thing, like a movie. Just to get over with it.” 

 

It took Liam a few seconds to realize what Zayn was talking about, and it made him feel cold and warm at the same time. The reason why, the reason why he was the way he was. “Zayn. You don’t have to. You know, talk about it.” 

Suddenly Zayn was very close, both his hands gripping Liam’s collar, tugging him closer. His voice was frantic when he continued, breath ghostly and hot against Liam’s ear. “You know, in science class, when they make you slice frogs open? All spread out. For analyzing.” 

And Liam found himself shivering violently despite the warmth surrounding him, his arms were now around Zayn’s middle, pulling him impossibly close. “Oh. Oh God.” 

“It’s like you know it’s right there, right in front of you. But you look over it, and when they make you look down, you see everything in pieces. Not cut. No. No, you just see an ear. Or the tip of an eye-brow.” 

Zayn was practically ripping at Liam’s shirt when he finished, his voice calm. 

 

They stayed entwined like that, until the first rays of another bright summer’s day washed over the paleness of the apartment walls. 

 

Zayn didn’t convulse, he didn’t burst out into tears. Not even when Liam pulled him up for a shower. He waited by the door, waited for wailing or manic laughter, but nothing was to be heard besides the dripping of water. 

After pacing back and forth in the living room for fifteen minutes, Liam finally grabbed his phone and called Dr. Morgenstern, never mind that it was only half-past four in the morning. 

“Yes?” She sounded quite alert for such an ungodly hour. “Speaking.”

“Hey. It’s Liam.”

“Do I need to come over?”

“No, I mean. I guess you don’t.” Liam took a deep breath. “Listen, he… he told me. About things.”

Morgenstern made him explain, and Liam forced himself to retell all those words, which now, in the broad daylight, seemed strangely intimate. 

She stayed quiet for a moment in which Liam’s fantasy took on a whole new level. Were they going to put Zayn in hospital? Was everything getting worse? “This, this is very good news.” 

Liam spluttered. “What?” 

“Let me explain later, my late shift is ending.”

“How am I supposed to act now?”

“Normal, Liam. Normal.”

 

And because normal Liam would do so, he went and fixed them both buttered toast and tea. 

 

After another fifteen minutes, Zayn came in, hair wet, eyes red-rimmed, cheeks bloodless. His eyes darted to the meager breakfast waiting on the table, then he looked at Liam, and there was something in his eyes that was so vulnerable and exposed, Liam wanted to make him look away. 

 

Then, he smiled. 

 

Liam sat and watched the delicate curve of his lips, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly, like smooth paper getting bunched up for the first time. His chest felt so full that he wasn’t at all surprised when something scorching and salty slid down his cheek. 

Then Zayn was walking towards him and before Liam knew what he was doing, he had closed the distance and pressed his lips to the corner of Zayn’s mouth. 

 

It was a kiss and a question. 

Zayn’s skin was soft and warm, his bones marking, his weight barely noticeable against Liam’s ribcage. His arms snaked around a waist, his thumb found a patch of skin to caress, his eyes closed. 

 

Zayn, Zayn was just so. 

 

Real. 

 

It didn’t occur to him that they were lying down on his couch until Zayn had freed himself from his boxers and laid a hand over Liam’s chest, right next to the erratic beating of his heart. 

 

\---

 

Dr. Morgenstern only cocked a brow when she came in later that eventful day.

 

Liam retreated to the kitchen, where he busied himself with dishes and polishing flat surfaces, but really. All he saw was Zayn. Little snippets, like cut photographs and old film played on a bad recorder, shredded and broken but in a way, compelling. 

When he was done making everything gleam at its best, he sat down with a cup of cold tea and asked himself what he had done the last quarter of a century. He’d seen things ever since Zayn had arrived in his life – or much rather between his bins. The worst and the best. The beauty. The unfathomable depth of the human mind and its ability to somehow preserve itself, remain pure and untainted. 

 

He was so deep in thought that he didn’t even realize right away when the kitchen door opened and two pairs of eyes came to rest of him. 

 

Dr. Morgenstern had her mild expression on. He face looked strangely young without the sharpness of her spectacles reflecting, and her pullover was a soft-knitted muted yellow that made Liam think of butter scotch, for some reason. 

Zayn was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed before his chest in his usual protective posture, but he was smiling. Liam flicked his eyes away and for a second he was back in the kitchen, the first morning after he took in that streaked, wordless boy. Harry had been smirking at him, standing at the exact same spot Zayn was now taking with his socked feet. But this time, the smile was softer around the edges, eyes a little more crinkled, lashes meek and tender against the bruised skin of his dark circles. 

 

“We’re done for today.” 

 

Dr. Morgenstern put on her glasses, blue eyes scanning Liam, questioning. “I’ll be off to get some sleep. Until next Thursday?” 

They both nodded, Liam’s eyes still trained on Zayn, on the straight line the bridge of his nose made, on the stubble that darkened his jaw ever so lightly. They both averted their eyes when the front door snapped close. And Liam couldn’t help but grin a little. 

Then, with one swift movement, he was halfway across the room, hands finding Zayn’s waist in a rush, while he felt a pair of arms snake around his shoulders. 

 

They stayed like that for a long time. 

 

Zayn slept for most of the afternoon, while Liam phoned his mum, talked to her about this and that, bibs and bobs of life, never actually mentioning Zayn’s name. But he could tell she noticed, and he also knew for sure she was smiling when they hung up. 

Then he texted Louis, asking him out for a pint on the weekend. His phone rang a few minutes after sending and they talked for almost an hour, with Niall in the background thumping away on his X-Box, and Louis proof-reading half of his own thesis paper. They didn’t cut the topic, but the peaceful moments with them both breathing down the phone and the muffled gunshots in the background told Liam that it probably was going to be okay. 

 

“Hey.” 

 

Zayn woke up half an hour later, hair mussed up and eyes squinting. Liam tilted his head back when he felt the hands on both his shoulders, until he could see him up-side down. The tint of green in Zayn’s orbs was so vibrant through his lashes that he almost fell off his chair backwards. 

 

They guided each other to the bedroom. Zayn tugging at Liam’s sleeve, Liam toying with his waistband. “She didn’t up my dose this month.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

 

And that was that. 

 

Then he laid Zayn down right on the stripe of sun the curtains allowed into the room, illuminating his chest like a sculpture. The alarm clock sat on the night table and ticked a subdued rhythm while Liam sent clothing items fluttering through the room. He kissed down a naked expanse of skin, unknown scratches and nameless scars melting under the soft press of his lips. 

Zayn laughed, maybe because he was ticklish. But Liam would like to think that it was because he was just a little happy. “Are you?” He asked out loud, looking up.

Zayn crinkled up his nose, the smile still lingering on the tips of his brows. “I think I might be.” 

It didn’t appeal to Liam until much later that he’d understood the question without hearing the whole of it. 

 

The sex was slow and breathless, the light donned a glow to the dancing dust particles while Liam let his hips and his circle-stroking thumbs work in tandem, eyes fixed on the creased skin at the corner of Zayn’s eyes. 

 

It lasted maybe a century, maybe just a split-second. 

 

But when Zayn let out a shuddering breath and came with his hands buried deep in Liam’s tousled mop of hair, he didn’t let go, the tips of his fingers burning a path down Liam’s back. 

 

The speckles of green in his eyes reflecting

 

Worlds. 

 

 

 

End.

_________________

 

O green world, don’t desert me now 

Bring me back to fallen town 

Where someone is still alive

 

Fighting for something new in this 

When no one needs the heart of me and 

I’ll Get out somewhere other than me before

 

Than me before

 

“O Green World” - Gorillaz


End file.
